Boys Ranch Texas Family

If you are not already a paid CFBRAA member I want to encourage you to become one. Our association is doing good things and helping out many with special needs and scholarships. We aren't doing as much as we would like to do and not as much as one would expect, especially if you or someone you are close to are in need of financial help. We are limited by the funds we have available, so what we can do is modest compared to the needs.

Here is what we were able to accomplish this year with less than 300 paid members:1. Helped 15 families in crisis situations, providing medical help, housing, utilities, clothing, etc. You provided nearly $11K in crisis support to families.2. Helped 9 alumni families send their children to college, providing $6K in scholarship assistance.3. Helped scores of new alumni with transportation, providing $4K for vehicle maintenance and fuel for the Alumni Support Center.4. Provided $500 to the residents of the Alumni Support Center to help with Christmas presents for their families.5. Provided $500 to the homes at BR as awards for the Christmas Contest winners.

You know I have 4 pets a german sheppard, a turkish angora (long hair cat) tuxidocat and just a heinz 57 cat and they all were found or rescue and I never thought I'd have that many animals but they all get along well and bring a lot of joy to my clan

Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.Mark Twain [Samuel Langhornne Clemens] (1835-1910)

funny you mentioned the footballs i used to kick around. the other day i was playing with my nephew and a few of his buddies and i tried kicking a simple extra point...i wasnt even close lol...it been 28 yrs since i could nail a 50 yard field goal. good memories...

I learned them all of that; I just had them de-clawed. Well actually our oldest cat when we moved into our new home she started going after the wood molding. So when I found that kitten a number of years ago I also got him declawed and the other cat we have is also declawed when we got her and since the whole lot is inside no worries

Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.Mark Twain [Samuel Langhornne Clemens] (1835-1910)

I once had a dog at BR, too. A German Shepherd mix who, from all appearances and like many of the dogs at the Ranch then, was discarded near the Highway 385 river bridge and probably wandered onto the main campus through Rock Pasture. When I first saw her, some bipedal offspring of Billy Beck's bovine lovefest were making sport of throwing rocks at her outside of the rodeo grounds. She was skinny, mangy-looking and scared; I could hear her yelp every time a rock struck her. There were four of them, plus they were older and bigger. I knew I'd lose bad if I tried to take on all of them at once, so I snuck into a nearby wild plum thicket and started firing rocks at them with a contraband slingshot I'd made in ag shop. As soon as I managed to hit one guy in the shoulder and another in the head, they quickly lost interest in the dog. Luckily for me, I had good aim and they were far too simpleminded to figure out where I was. After they left, I coaxed the dog to me and used my belt as a makeshift leash. We stopped by the dining hall to get a bag of leftovers from Mrs. Welch and I was then able to score some mange salve from Mr. Harden (one of the reliably cool ag teachers back in the day, unlike major suck-up Bill Sarpalius). I next took the yet unnamed dog to my dorm, washed and hosed her off and made her a bed of rags in the tool closet behind our dorm. Which is where I hid her for a few days while she was getting her strength back. I continued to take care of her and named her Sherry (short for Charlotte, as I'd just finished reading Charlotte's Web). Fortunately, my regular dorm parents were away for an entire week at the time. This was a good thing because they'd have just immediately said "no" had I requested to keep Sherry (by far their favorite, actually default, response to anything out of the ordinary that I or any other non-staff kid asked), and my alternate dorm parent didn't pay much attention to anything beyond the TV in his apartment outside of lights on, lights out and muster. On the other hand, I don't recall him ever once missing a meal at the dining hall—even on his days off. When my regular dorm parents returned and got upset about Sherry, I told them that I'd been taking care of her the whole time they'd been away so it must have been okay with our alternate dorm parent. I could see that they were distinctly displeased with what I'd done but, at the same time, they were loath to have it be said that they refused care and shelter to a homeless dog. Within a month, Sherry looked and acted like a completely different dog. If I was anywhere outside, we were inseparable. She'd follow me everywhere, even waiting outside of whichever building she last saw me go into until I came back out. Oftentimes she'd lope alongside or behind my dorm parent's pickup truck whenever he'd drive a group of us down to the orchard to yo-yo weeds, to the softball fields to mow, to the rodeo grounds or wherever else some equally wondrous chores awaited us, to the excitement and joy of all involved. Finally, I had a friend who made life in all of the extraordinary pettiness and unkindness that was the Ranch at that point in time a whole lot more bearable (it seemed to be the essentiality of the place in the immediate post-Farleys era).

While most caring, well-adjusted (i.e., non-sociopathic) adults would be appreciative and supportive of the positive aspects that are created by the friendship between a boy and his dog, such would not be the case with certain administrative staff. No, sir. Apparently, Home Life Directors* Peggram and Simmons had some serious issues (beyond their own unresolved emotional ones) about the bond Sherry and I had formed. This first came to my attention when they called me aside with my dorm parent one night after supper and 'suggested' that Sherry would be better off somewhere else, such as on another ranch in the area. They spoke of already knowing someone who would be willing to take her. I could tell that they were expecting me to easily say "okay" because I tended to be very quiet and do as I was told, which was my normal way of being as invisible as possible and staying under the radar so to speak. This time, though, I found the nerve to speak up and I didn't tell them what they wanted to hear. I said, "No, I don't want Sherry to go anywhere else. I want to take care of her. She's my dog." I could tell that my response, as well as my attitude (meaning any attitude other than a boot-licking, tractable one), angered them but they just told my dorm parent to have me think about it some more and then walked away.

Suddenly, I found myself getting put on restriction for the smallest, even imagined, infractions. So much so that I hardly had any free time on weekends and/or evenings outside of my restriction work. At the time I thought it strange that most of my restriction was spent indoors scrubbing the showers and toilets with Comet and a toothbrush, bleaching the big room and hall walls, cleaning windows, et cetera, instead of being outside pulling weeds, clearing out mesquite brush and removing rocks from the hill or pushing a wheelbarrow on the manure tour. In hindsight, I came to understand that this was intended to make sure I didn't have as much free time to spend with Sherry or to even be outside where she could be nearby while I was working off my latest restriction. I have to wonder if Peggram and Simmons were actually more concerned (i.e., afraid) about what Sherry would do to them or another staff member who tried to hurt me (e.g., my dorm parent might not have made it to 40 licks like he did one time had he done so in front of Sherry), as she'd already kept me from getting beat up a couple of times by growling and baring her teeth at some older boys who used me as a punching bag whenever they felt like it. So, despite a few weeks later it being suggested again by Peggram and Simmons that Sherry should go elsewhere, I continued to disagree. However, I had no one (adult) at the Ranch to whom I could turn for help.

Frankly, I didn't trust that Peggram and Simmons were telling me the truth about there being someone who wanted to provide Sherry a home. I figured that if they could get me to agree to let her go, they'd simply drive her to either Channing or Vega and dump her. Had I been able to foresee what they really had in mind for her, however, I'd have figured out a way to run away and get her to a safe place. Regrettably, despite the fact that I'd already had some considerably grim experiences at the Ranch, nothing I'd encountered by then sufficiently prepared me for what was to come. My mind at the time simply wouldn't accept, or preconceive, the thought that an adult staff member would consciously and intentionally act in such a manner as they were about to do.

At some point Peggram and Simmons must have decided that my recalcitrant attitude was also a 'teachable moment.' Once they realized that I wouldn't give up Sherry willingly, they soon thereafter concocted a story that made out Sherry to be an aggressive menace. Stating that they (no other witnesses, though) had seen her barking and snarling at a cow. They then claimed that a dog who would bark at a cow in as vicious a manner as they alleged to have seen her doing would at some point attack a cow or maybe even a person. For this reason, they said that Sherry had to be "put down." Peggram and Simmons made me bring Sherry to them, tie her up in the back of Peggram's truck and then they drove away with her. That was the last time I saw her alive. They drove her to the top of the pasture behind Anderson, tied her to a fence post, shot her in the head and left her there. They told my dorm parent where her body was, and had him tell me to carry her over to the kill pit and put her in it. I was unashamedly crying when I found her still tied up to the post where they killed her. I didn't take her to the kill pit, though. I went and got a shovel from the maintenance barn so that I could bury her in the shade of an old cottonwood near upper Morris. It had been a place where we hung out together on some Sunday afternoons. Peaceful times during which I could pretend that the world was normal for a little while. Afterwards, I was so upset that I thought about throwing that shovel in the middle of the lake, or finding Peggram's truck and using the shovel to smash it to the point that it looked just like the piece of excrement that he and Simmons both embodied. Curiously, I no longer cared one iota about what would or wouldn't get me in trouble but, even then, I did the right thing and returned the shovel to the maintenance barn. It wasn't until some time later that I learned they fully expected me to flip out that night and try to run off. Apparently my dorm parent and some of the other staff had been put on a high alert that I would attempt something overnight. I can only imagine how sorely disappointed they were the next morning to see that I wasn't doing anything but mourning the loss of my friend. (Knowing Peggram and Simmons, they probably already had a contingency plan in place to use whatever it was I was anticipated to do as an excuse to ship me off to Gainesville.)

During the intervening years, I've come to believe that God (knowing what the early years of my life would be like) gifted me with a death-metal-rock-concert-decibel-level version of what is often referred to as our inner 'still small voice' along with a clearly defined sense of fairness and right and wrong. All this mixed with a stubborn streak which raises its head when something appears patently unfair or wrong is likely what gave origin to my dorm parent telling me, not infrequently, that he'd very often like to smash my head in to a wall but there was no point because he'd just end up hurting the wall. Whereas I knew that this was intended to be an insult, I always took it as a compliment. This is not something Boys' Ranch taught me but, rather, something I came with which allowed me to ultimately escape there with my psyche in a state still receptive to healing—through which I could then better understand others, forgive that which I needed to forgive, let go and move forward. It wasn't always easy, yet even today, but it's doable and it gets easier with practice. I feel blessed for this because of how I've been able to channel what were negatives into positives, in both my personal and professional lives. At the end of the day, I refuse to complain about the experiences which provided me a model of what to reject in my own life ... as well as what not to inflict upon others ... and taught me neither to fear nor back down from those people who do resort to fear and its lot in their attempts to control others. All the same, this doesn't mean I won't be candidly vocal about those who deserve it (because some in our extended family of brothers where simply too broken and/or not given the tools with which to get their feet back under them and, as a result, they suffered needlessly in ways that potentially could've been avoided.) Likewise, you'll never hear me denigrate the positive principles upon which the Farleys founded Boys' Ranch. Any criticism from me is directed solely at those individuals who either abandoned said principles or were too amoral and/or lazy to uphold them and, as such, were not only responsible for corrupting that which was created for good but unnecessarily hurt countless kids who wanted nothing more from these adults but their help and love. The honorable light, however fleeting it was at times, from the staff who were good and kind is what I held on to and kept inside me. So, to them, thank you. For me, too, living in a place where God's natural beauty, especially from the top of Boot Hill, was so evident every single day was no small grace in and of itself. In my heart, Boys' Ranch was, is and remains my home.

Nevertheless, my version of karmic justice would be that Peggram and Simmons are now in a place where dogs forever roam a land of crystal-clear ponds, grassy plains and evergreen hills stocked with a never-ending supply of rubber balls, chew toys, recreational bones and a shooting range wherein .45 ACPs are chambered with Federal Hydra-Shok 230gr JHPs, and those two are condemned to spend the rest of eternity being consistently and repeatedly used for target practice. How long is eternity? Imagine the very lightest feather falling gently down upon the most high mountain. The time it takes for that feather to wear that mountain down to sea level ... is only the first second of eternity.

[*Home Life Directors, ROFLMAO! What a ludicrously pretentious, not to mention insanely delusional, title these two cretins had; especially given their absolute and utter lack of understanding for or about anything that would in any shape or form constitute a healthy, loving and safe home life (environment) for any child. Sadly, the leadership vacuum of the early post-Farleys era at BR saw far too many of these military reject and/or LEO wannabe types obtaining, and being able to keep, a better job at Boys' Ranch than they could've found anywhere else in the world. Seriously, what loser wouldn't strive to keep a job that included room and board, paid utilities, subsidized fuel, per diems and numerous other benefits in addition to a base salary!? (Not to mention an expensive—very much so at the time—mobile phone for certain administrative personnel just so that everyone else was aware of how truly important they were.) The only downside to all this being that one had to be willing to deal out an aggressively assertive level of unrestricted corporal punishment (along with with some mental and/or emotional abuse thrown in for good measure) on a daily basis so as to maintain a high enough level of fear in a bunch of mongrel kids—all in the name of "deserved" discipline, of course—to keep them apprehensive and intimidated twenty-four seven (in turn teaching the more nefarious older guys there to perpetrate the same inappropriate and useless cycle of abuse on the younger kids). Of course, for those perverse individuals like Jay Christopher (Maynard), this was actually the upside of the job. There was no real downside. I'm not even going to address the emotionally-crippled mental midget known as C.C. "Bus" Dugger, and I certainly won't disrespect real coaches by referring to him as one. The pond-scum-in-humanoid-form George Richards (Jefferies) is another person undeserving of the dirt necessary to cover his grave. Not to mention the infamous child molester of Lutz whose name I refuse to speak, as the Ranch administration at the time simply covered up his disgusting atrocities and pretended they never happened; neither taking the appropriate steps to see that this pre-Sandusky predator was punished for his abhorrently criminal behavior nor providing any legitimate emotional/psychological counseling for his innocent victims. Bottom line, the administration in those bleak days promoted, conspired, to create a culture of secrecy that was simply wrong. Not only for the obvious lack of openness such oppressiveness creates, but for the life model it imprinted upon (i.e., scarred) innumerable boys. Just how pathetic a person does one have to be to lack any sort of compassion whatsoever for the already damaged and hurt children handed over to his or her care? (I asked Peggram this question the first time I returned to visit the Ranch as an adult and in lieu of answering it he angrily ordered me off of Ranch property, threatening to have the Oldham County Sheriff's Office arrest me for trespassing if I didn't leave immediately. The most pitiable aspect of our tête-à-tête wasn't even him thinking he had the right to tell me to leave my own home. No, it was the blatantly naked desire I could see in his eyes to take off his belt and beat me with it at the exact moment he genuinely realized that I knew he had no power at all over me anymore.) To add further insult to injury still, staff of the aforementioned ilk were able to ostracize and chase off almost every morally-grounded and humane staff member who didn't fall in line with their neanderthalic ways. The Germans, the Hoods and the Penns come to mind immediately, but it's certainly a much longer list of staff who were branded with outsider status by imbeciles whose skill set didn't extend beyond busting kids. Heaven forbid that you're so bat-@#*&! crazy a freak, e.g., as Mr. Penn was, to actually believe it was possible to first talk with a boy as an effective means of discipline, rather than following the immediate knee-jerk reaction popular at the time of racking kids for any and all offenses (SOP for most staff, especially dorm parents.) Bluntly, I know that I'm only barely scratching the surface here with regard to some of the asinine behaviors that I experienced and/or observed during the decade-long period I was at the Ranch. Come to think of it, maybe Chaplain Latchaw should've started off every Sunday morning service by reminding everyone in attendance that God is watching ... "And everyone who commits an offense against one of these little ones who believe in me, it were profitable for him that a donkey's millstone would be hung around his neck and he be sunk in the depths of the sea." (Matthew 18:6)]

Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time. —Thomas A. Edison

We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty. —Mother Teresa

thanks for sharing. I am glad you were able to get that off your chest. The purpose of this site is to reconnect and provide a place to vent the past. I found that it has helped me a lot.

Jerry Nicholson "Semper Fidelis". You can join the Army, you can join the Navy and you can join the Air Force but, you BECOME a Marine!Having earned the title of Marine it becomes a integral part of who and what we will become later in life.